SO A CHICK is telling men to stop blubbing and toughen up:
Another sporting weekend, another great big crybaby hits the headlines. Forget this summer’s metrosexual cardigan, these days the accessory du jour for any strapping bloke with Stakhanovite thighs and a five o’clock shadow you could sand floors with, is a nice lace-trimmed hankie – proper cotton mind you, so as not to chafe his septum …….
My friend David, an avid sports fan and former rugby player built like the proverbial brick you-know-what, and whom I would never have thought would condone this sort of nonsense, sincerely thinks that crying on the field is “a badge of honesty”. “Crying conveys a level of passion, a heart and soul engagement,” he says, as my jaw hits the floor. “The fans appreciate that.” (Not me – PM)
Those will be snivelling male fans then, who mope about the house for days after a first innings collapse. Apologies if I sound a bit tough, I have to be – I’m a woman. A woman, moreover, surrounded by a generation of blokes labouring under the delusion that emoting, messily, in public is a good thing. It’s not. (Hear hear – PM)
Don’t get me wrong, on a personal level I have derived an enormous sense of satisfaction down the years in seeing men – specifically repressed former public schoolboys (you know who you are) – cry. But only as part of a loving relationship, behind closed doors, and, most important of all, just the once. (It sounds sickening – PM)
In that context, witnessing a man breaking down is hugely empowering. To me, not him, obviously. But even as I am comforting him, tenderly stroking his wobbly chin, and congratulating him for not being an emotional cripple, I am despising him for his weakness. (Well said sister – PM)
There are two occasions only when a man is allowed to turn the tap on – at the loss and memory of loved ones, and when his faithful dog snuffs it. All the rest is self-pitying, exhibitionist whining. The Telegraph piece is inspired by (former) England cricket captain Michael Vaughan’s teary press conference in which he threw in the towel. Sorry pal, you’re allowed to give up the armband but you are absolutely out of order to bring embarrassment and disgrace on the nation by going at it like a big girl.
He’s not alone of course. We’ve had former England football captain David Beckham turning on the waterworks, former England football captain John Terry doing likewise, Beckham again and John Terry yet a-bloody-gain.
Not to be outdone, the fans on the terraces frequently join in the blub-fest when their team loses The Big One or is relegated or some other setback comes their way.
Before anyone accuses me of failing to sympathise with fans and their devotions to their teams, I am a fan (20 year season-ticket holder at the Arsenal) and know full well the joy and pain of victory and defeat. What I have never done in during or after any of the hundreds of games I have attended is disgrace myself with a showy display of self-pitying, nancy-boy blubbing.
Men – stop pretending that you’re impressing someone, stop feminising yourselves, turn off the tears and have some self respect.